


modern warfare

by Anney



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, M/M, Paintball War AU, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anney/pseuds/Anney
Summary: “It’s a race.”“A race?” Sebastian asks sceptically.“Yes. Well, it’s also a game. A paintball game,” Charles explains.Seb looks at him like he’s grown an extra head.“You lost me there, buddy.”-Charles and George team up with Alex to help him win Red Bull’s Great Paintball Race of 2020. But when Charles gets separated from the rest, he finds help from an unlikely source.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: Winterbreak Writing Challenge (2020)





	1. When the sun goes down

**Author's Note:**

> For scarletred’s Winterbreak F1 Writing Challenge: _**Why is it always you three?** Write some funny shenanigans involving three drivers of your choice._
> 
> There is more than one trio involved; shenanigans definitely occur—It’s the Paintball War AU nobody asked for!
> 
> (The title is a reference to Community s01e23, the quintessential paintball AU and also a vague inspiration for this fic.)
> 
> Everything is fictional.

Charles moves through the dark hallway with catlike dexterity.

He knows the layout of the hotel by heart—every turn of the winding corridor, every piece of furniture and tasteless art that lines its walls, every nook and cranny where danger might lurk in the shadows.

The corridor leads to an open foyer where the elevator doors stand out, polished wood with golden trimmings in a tacky impression of _art nouveau_. There are two large, paned windows that lead to adjacent balconies, and the moonlight that seeps through them is the only source of light on the entire floor. Its greenish glow makes everything look eerie, and Charles nearly jumps out of his skin when the light catches on the golden frame of a life-sized painting of an angel, which gives him the creeps.

Charles hides further down the hall, where the shadows give him the best cover. He hears the muffled thump of hesitant footsteps on the carpet before he can see his target, for his ears are much more alert than his eyes can be in the darkness.

His heart quickens in his chest with a rush of adrenaline. His index finger tightens on the trigger of the gun.

Charles can see him now, from his vantage point, a lame duck caught right in the bullseye. Such an easy target.

He raises his gun, and the faint beam of moonlight catches on the cool metal. There’s a split second where he knows his target has noticed the flash of light, his eyes growing wide with realization. But by then it’s too late to escape.

Charles pulls the trigger and his shot lands squarely in the chest. The man falls to the ground, a red stain spreading, bleeding through his trembling fingers.

Charles approaches, standing over him with a victorious smirk.

“ _Touché_.”

“You’re an idiot, Charles,” the man complains, wiping the red paint from his fingers onto the carpet. “Did you really have to shoot for the chest? That hurt like hell!”

“Sorry, Esté,” Charles says, without much conviction.

Charles is exceptionally good at this game, if he may say so himself. One man down. Only five left. And now that Esteban has been eliminated, there’s only one other Frenchman he has to worry about.

“Please send my regards to Pierre,” Charles says in a solemn voice, a deadly smile spreading across his face. “Tell him I’m coming for him.”

“You’re a bloody idiot!” exclaims Esteban, but Charles has already disappeared down the hall, hiding in the shadows as he goes.

*

“That was brilliant,” George’s voice rings out from his AirPods as soon as the call connects.

“I know, right!” Charles grins into the hallway security camera, hoping George is watching him right now. “Did you see his face?”

“Yeah, mate,” George chuckles on the other end of the line. “Proper stunned.”

Charles peers into the foyer from his hiding spot. He’s on the third floor of the hotel, and the entire floor is silent.

“Third floor is clear,” George confirms his assessment. As part of their plan, the Brit has infiltrated the hotel’s security room, effectively earning their team eyes on all corridors.

“Tell me what to do,” Charles asks.

“Max and Daniel are patrolling the sixth-floor corridor. They seem distracted, could be a nice target—” 

_Yes_ , Charles would like nothing better than to take Max out. Imagine the Dutchman’s face when he realizes—

“—but,” George continues, guessing his thoughts. “There are two of them, so maybe proceed with caution.”

_Yeah. Right._

“Okay. Who else is left?”

“Pierre took out Lando on the first floor, so that’s one man down for Team Max,” George says with professional efficiency. He’d make a good race engineer. “You took out Esteban, so Pierre only has Daniil left on his team. He’s hiding in a lift right now, god knows why, so watch out for that.”

“Any news on Alex?” Charles asks George about their third teammate, who has been suspiciously quiet all evening.

“I don’t have eyes on Alex at the moment,” George informs.

Charles frowns.

“Is he out?”

“I don’t think so, mate. He would have texted if he were,” George says. “Last time I saw him, he was on the fifth floor. Must be hiding.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now,” Charles announces. “I’m going for Max.”

“Roger that, Charles. Sixth floor. Good luck,” says George, before hanging up the call.

Charles sends a quick text to Alex, inquiring about his whereabouts, before quietly hurrying towards the service stairwell.

He climbs the concrete steps, two at a time, up three flights. He leans his ear against the fireproof door with the large number six painted on it, trying to listen for sounds on the other side.

He hears a loud ringing, followed by a big ruckus of gunshots and people running. He opens the door a crack, hoping the commotion will give him enough cover. He peeks through in time to see Daniil standing in the open elevator, firing randomly into the corridor, Rambo-style.

There are splashes of blue paint all over the walls, and Charles sees Max and Daniel cowering behind two large armchairs, gesticulating wildly at each other.

Charles raises his gun, sticking the barrel through the crack in the door, and aims it at Max. He doesn’t have a shot yet, not with Max hiding behind furniture, _the coward_. But patience is the key, and Charles will soon have his opportunity.

At just the right time, he hears the tell-tale click of Daniil’s gun running out of ammo.

There’s a brief standoff, tension thick in the air as neither man moves, and then all hell breaks loose.

Max and Daniel rise from their hiding places, shooting at Daniil simultaneously, and Charles aims for the Dutchman’s blond head and pulls the trigger with satisfaction already settling in his gut.

His aim is less than perfect, and the shot hits the Dutchman in the shoulder.

“Motherfucker!” yells Max, followed by a string of what must be Dutch expletives.

Charles barely has time to rejoice in his victory, however, because a ball of pink paint splashes up right next to the fire door. Before he can close the door and flee, a second bullet finds its way through the gap, missing Charles’ head by inches before splattering into the concrete wall behind him.

 _Holy fuck_. _What in the world was that?_

He quickly closes the door, his cover blown, and runs up the stairs, remembering that it’s always better to have the higher ground in situations like this. His fingers fumble in his pocket for the phone, George’s number on speed dial.

“What the hell was that?”, he whisper-yells as soon as George picks up, leaning over the railing to take a look at the sixth-floor landing. It looks like no one followed him into the stairwell. “Was that Ricciardo?”

“I don’t know, mate,” George says. “Couldn’t see. But Daniil is out, and so is Max. So yeah. Either it was Ricciardo or Max is playing dirty.”

Charles knows they’re not supposed to take shots at anyone once they’re out of the game, but he doesn’t put it past Max to cheat just to get back at him.

“Bloody wanker,” he mimics his friend’s British accent.

George chuckles on the other end of the line.

“Nice one, mate.” He’s quiet for a second, before asking, “Charles, where are you?”

“South stairwell, eighth floor. Why?”

“I don’t have eyes on the stairwell, but Daniel might be coming your way. Watch out. Over.”

The call is cut off with two beeps, just before Charles hears the door hinges rattle. He watches it open a crack, the barrel of a gun sticking through the gap. He hides in the shadows, away from the railing. There is no way he can get a shot from this angle and trying to do so would only give away his position. The best he can do is hide as quietly as possible.

 _Where the fuck are you, Alex?_ He could really use some backup right now.

He holds his breath and stares at the gun peeking through the door. A few moments pass before it seems that Daniel has given up, retreating to the lobby.

The door closes behind him and Charles lets out a loud exhale.

He fishes out his phone and texts Alex again.

> _To Alex_ : where r u? need help.

He waits for a second, debating what to do next. He could ask George for directions again, but his friend can’t be much help if there are no cameras around, and Charles doesn’t think it’s wise to talk on the phone when he doesn’t know who might be around to hear him.

He could go back downstairs and try to take Daniel out on his own, but with the Australian likely expecting him to come in from the stairwell, Charles could not be an easier target.

With his options looking increasingly bleak, he takes a deep breath as he sees the incoming text message.

< _From Alex_ : regroup. room 505.

_Thank god for small mercies._

He flies down the stairs as fast as he can. But when he reaches the sixth floor, he realizes his mistake. The door squeaks open again as he rushes past, and Charles only has time to duck before the gunshots travel past his ears.

He moves as fast as he can, trying to get out of range, but he loses his balance as he reaches the fifth-floor landing, and watches in horror as the gun flies out of his hand and into the void beyond the bannister. It clatters to the ground floor about five seconds later.

Charles doesn’t have time to dwell on it, not with Daniel hot on his heels. He opens the door to the fifth-floor corridor and runs.

He doesn’t watch where he’s going, counting the room doors in his head as he runs past them. He knocks frantically on the fifth door on the right. He doesn’t even look inside when the door opens, too busy looking over his shoulder to see if Daniel followed him. He enters the room and hastily closes the door.

“Thank god, mate. I almost got killed there,” he says to Alex.

The voice that answers him sounds nothing like Alex.

“Charles?”

*

“Seb?”

Charles turns around to meet his teammate’s confused face. “What are you doing here?” he asks, dumbfounded.

Sebastian is dressed only in dark blue sweatpants, his bare chest on display as he clutches a shirt in his hand. His hair is dripping wet, like he just got out of the shower. _Fuck, he looks good_.

“Erm. I should ask you that,” Seb replies, “This is my room...”

Now that Charles has time to process this, he does notice several of Sebastian’s personal items scattered around the hotel room. What he also notices is the absolute absence of Alex.

He smacks his own head.

“Shit. I must have gotten the wrong room. I was looking for Alex,” he says, trying to make sense of the situation.

His gaze is still glued to Sebastian’s chest. A water droplet falls from the messy ends of his damp hair into the hollow of his collarbone, lingering there for one mesmerizing moment before sliding down the taut skin of his chest and the hard planes of his abdomen straight into— _Christ_. 

Seb stares at him, amused.

“Well, Alex isn’t here.”

Charles blushes.

“Right. Sorry about that,” he says. “I should…” _Focus, Charles_. “I should go find Alex then.”

At that moment someone knocks on the door, and the blood freezes in his veins.

“Are you expecting someone?” asks Charles with a growing sense of danger.

“No,” Sebastian replies.

There’s a second knock, more urgent, and the realization hits Charles.

“Shit, don’t open that,” he pleads.

Seb looks at him strangely.

“What are you on about?” He makes his way past Charles towards the door, despite his pleading.

“Please, Seb. Don’t tell them I’m here.”

He scans the room for a place to hide, briefly considering sliding under the bed, before realizing how stupid that sounds. His gaze lands on the thick heavy curtains drawn across the window. That will have to do. He sneaks behind them just in time.

His heart thumps loudly against his ribcage as Sebastian opens the door.

“Daniel,” he hears his teammate say. _Shit. Shit. Shit_. “How can I help you?”

“Seb, hi.”

There’s a second where neither man speaks. Charles doesn’t hear any footsteps, but he doesn’t know if Sebastian has let Daniel in or not.

“How are you?” asks Daniel, not sounding any closer. _Still out of the room, then._

“I’m fine,” Seb says, conversationally. _Damn his teammate and his unwavering politeness_. “I was just about to go to bed, actually. Is there anything you wanted or—”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you’d seen any of the kids around. Charles, perhaps?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and Charles feels like his heart might just burst out of his chest at the rate it’s beating.

“I haven’t seen Charles since this morning,” Sebastian replies. “Why?”

Charles lets out a loud exhale, immediately pressing a hand over his mouth when he realizes it came out with a small whimper.

He doesn’t hear Daniel’s muffled reply through the rush of blood pounding in his head, but he knows he’s off the hook when the door closes with a soft slam.

 _God_ , _he’s so happy he could hug Seb right now_. Just as the thought crosses his mind, his teammate’s head peeks beyond the curtains, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

“So, you want to tell me why you’re hiding from Daniel?”

*

“It’s a race.”

“A race?” Sebastian asks sceptically, sitting down on the tiny sofa in the room.

“Yes. Well, it’s also a game. A paintball game,” Charles explains.

Seb looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. He’s got his shirt on, Charles notes, a little disappointed.

“You lost me there, buddy.”

“Okay,” Charles dives into the explanation. “It’s called Red Bull’s Great Paintball Race, and it happens every two years. Alex says it’s Dietrich’s idea, the man is supposed to be an eccentric.”

“Sounds like Dietrich,” Sebastian interjects, chuckling.

“Each Red Bull driver gets to pick a team of three, whether they’re on the team or not, and they compete against each other. Each team is given a code that is supposed to tell us where the final location is and two paintball guns, and we have three hours to crack it and make it to the finish line. The first team to get there wins, but if you get shot in the meantime, you’re out of the game.”

Seb opens and closes his mouth several times like a goldfish. _A very adorable goldfish._

“You’re playing paintball in the hotel?!” he asks scandalized.

Charles almost rolls his eyes. Of course, that’s what Seb is focused on.

“Yeah, but it’s all sanctioned. Dietrich owns the place.”

Seb sighs, wearing his exasperated _I'm-too-old-for-this-shit_ expression. It always makes Charles smile.

“Of course he does.” Sebastian looks at him curiously for a moment. “So, what are you, a Ferrari driver, doing in a Red Bull competition?”

“We’re on Alex’s team,” he explains. “Me and George, that is. We’re going to help him win the prize.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Well, there’s a one million euro cash prize for the winning team, which is a good enough reason I suppose. But also, the winner automatically gets an F1 seat for next season, so we’re really just doing it to help Alex win the seat.”

He sees the approval on Seb’s face, and his chest swells with pride at being on the receiving end.

“That’s nice of you,” Seb comments.

Charles beams.

“Of course, there’s also like... insane bragging rights for the winner. And I’ve already had the chance to shoot Max, so there’s that too,” he says with a smug grin.

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Seb says, getting up from the sofa. “I’ll leave you to your game, then.”

Which would’ve been fine, if Charles weren’t so sure he’d be dead before he even made it past the door.

“Actually,” he says sheepishly. “Do you think I could hide in here a little longer? Daniel is probably still out there, and I lost my gun. I just need to call George and figure out what to do.”

Seb makes a small dismissive gesture. “Take as much time as you need,” he says, going to the minibar to make himself a drink.

Charles picks up his phone and tries to call George, but all he hears is silence. _Huh_. He looks at the screen, frowning at the blank bars.

He feels Seb’s eyes on him and finds him sipping on something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, watching Charles with mild interest over the rim of his glass.

“No reception,” Charles declares, with a huff.

Seb raises his eyebrows but doesn’t utter a word. He picks up his own phone from the desk above the minibar and looks at it with a frown.

“I don’t have any either. Maybe the walls are blocking the signal?” he offers by way of explanation.

Charles groans, slumping back into the sofa. He is so screwed. Seb takes another sip of his drink and Charles’ gaze follows the movement of his throat as he gulps down the amber liquid.

_Hmm._

“Do you want one?”

“Huh?” Charles stares at him blankly.

“A drink,” Seb nods towards his glass. “You look like you could use one.”

Charles nods. _That would be nice_. “Yes, please.”

Sebastian turns to make him a drink as Charles stands up, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.

“Here you go,” Sebastian hands him the crystal glass. “Although I don’t know if I should be giving you this if you’re going to be handling firearms.”

“If I ever find mine again,” Charles says despondently, taking a sip from his own glass. _Yep, definitely whiskey_. It burns as it goes down his throat. “I can’t go anywhere unarmed,” he complains. “I don’t know where my friends are, _and_ I still have to crack the code and I have no idea what it means.” He glances at his wristwatch. “And we only have an hour and a half left.”

Seb chuckles at his misery. Charles downs his drink in one go.

“Okay, calm down,” his teammate says, gently prying the empty glass from his fingers. He sets it down on the desk. “This code, do you have it with you?”

“Yes,” Charles fishes the plastic card with the Red Bull logo out of his pocket.

It looks like a credit card, except there’s only a row of numbers printed on the front. He’s been trying to make sense of them all evening.

**_91 43 62 41 74_ **

“They’re just random numbers,” Charles says.

“Mind if I take a look?” asks Seb.

“Sure,” he hands him the card. His teammate looks at it with a thoughtful expression, flipping it over in his hand.

“We thought it might be coordinates,” Charles says. “But George has already ruled that out. Maybe it’s a sequence or something. I don’t know. I’m terrible at math.”

He watches as Seb’s brow furrows in concentration, his tongue peeking out between his teeth. Charles is well aware that he has a giant unrequited crush on Sebastian and watching him go all focused into business mode is doing strange things to his insides. The alcohol isn’t helping either.

“I don’t think it’s a sequence at all,” Seb says, “It looks like a cipher.”

_See, how can he function properly when Sebastian sounds so sexy saying clever things like that?_

_Wait, what on earth is a cipher?_

“Text disguised as numbers,” Seb explains, noticing the confusion on his face. “But to decipher it, we need to know what the key is.”

Seb throws himself right back into the task of cracking the code, and Charles is way out of his depth here. He wanders around the room for a while, looking at various items that pique his interest, and he takes the opportunity to make a quick dash to the bathroom. He’s washing his hands when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket.

“George,” he says as he answers the call.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to call you for ages. Where are you?”

“Reception is terrible,” Charles replies. “I’m on the fifth floor. I was going to meet Alex—”

“Alex is out,” George interrupts him. “I just got the text.”

 _Crap_. Charles’ heart sinks to the floor.

“But we can still win this for him, Charles. We have to try,” George pleads.

Charles splashes cool water on his face.

_Yeah. That’s not going to be easy._

“I lost my gun in the stairwell,” he tells George.

“Bloody hell,” comes George’s sigh. “Any luck with the code?”

“Yeah, we’re working on it. I think we might be onto something—”

“Charles?” comes Sebastian’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Wait,” George says. “Who’s _we_ —” his phone beeps ominously, and Charles pulls it away from his ear to look at the visor. _Lost signal._

Sebastian knocks on the bathroom door.

“Charles, are you done? I think I’ve figured it out.”

Charles opens the door so fast he’s sure it falls off its hinges. He is met by blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“It is, quite literally, a text message,” Sebastian says proudly.

Charles grins at his discovery. He looks at the random string of numbers in light of this breakthrough, and then back at Sebastian’s smug expression.

 _Huh_.

He does not follow.

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Sebastian to elaborate.

“Charles, have you ever owned a phone with an actual keypad?” He asks expectantly. “A non- _qwerty_ one?”

“I- a non _what_?”

Sebastian sighs.

“Legend has it that there once existed these ancient phones with physical buttons you had to press multiple times if you wanted to type a text,” he elaborates.

_What is he on about? Ancient phones? Surely there were no cell phones before the last few decades, right?—_

“You are making fun of me,” he says deadpanned.

Sebastian grins.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “That was mean.” The wicked grin doesn’t leave his face, though, and it probably speaks volumes about how much Charles has fallen for this man that he forgives him anyway.

Seb sets the card on the counter and picks up his phone, switching it to numpad. He shows it to Charles, looking at the code numbers.

“See, the first number is 91, and if you click on the nine key once, you get the letter W,” he explains. “And if you click the four key three times, you get an ‘I’.”

He goes through the rest of the code numbers, the letters spelling out—

W-I-N-G-S.

“Oh my god, you’re a genius!” exclaims Charles, hugging Seb in the middle of his euphoria. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

Seb chuckles, taken by surprise, and he places a warm hand in the small of his back.

“Okay. So now you can go find your wings,” he says after a moment, taking a step back. “Do you want me to check if the hallway is clear for you?”

Charles’ heart drops with the sudden distance, and then he remembers.

“Alex is out,” he says, sullenly. “I managed to talk to George for a bit before I lost signal again. So, it’s just up to me to see this through.”

Even if they’ve cracked the code, there’s little chance Charles can pull this off on his own, without a gun.

“Ah, seems like a tough job for one person,” Seb says, somehow sounding more like a question.

Charles could really use some help.

“Do you want to come with me?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Sebastian seems to consider it for a moment.

“Why not?” he shrugs.

“Yeah?” asks Charles incredulously.

Seb blushes a little.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I mean, this has been fun, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I’m writing something from Charles’ POV, so of course it’s the dumbest thing ever (sorry, Charles). 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope that it’s been as fun to read as it was to write so far. Next chapter will be up sometime next week. Feedback is very much appreciated. <3


	2. D is for Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _D is for delightful_   
>  _And try and keep your trousers on_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw mentions of claustrophobia

Sebastian sticks his head out the door, using his phone as a flashlight.

“No one’s here,” he says, turning back to Charles. “Why are all the lights out?”

“Total blackout in the hallways,” Charles explains with a shrug. “It’s part of the game. Your eyes get used to it quickly, and there’s plenty of moonlight coming in from the windows in the lobby.”

“Okay,” Seb sounds unconvinced. “So, let’s recap. The plan is to go down to the ground floor and try to recover your gun. If anyone shows up, you hide and I’ll cover for you. In the meantime, I need you to figure out the meaning of WINGS.”

“Got it,” he nods. ~~~~

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Sebastian quickly leads them down the corridor, back to the foyer facing the elevators. He opens the door that leads to the service stairwell where Charles lost his gun, watching for any sign of the others. He nods for Charles to follow him.

Charles checks his phone. Still no signal.

They continue down the stairs, their path lit only by the faint green flashing of the emergency lights. He can hear their footsteps echoing in the stairwell, a rhythmic squeaking of sneaker soles on concrete.

The more he focuses on the sound, the more he realizes something is out of tune. He hears a light scuffing on the floor that doesn’t match their footsteps and the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing.

His eyes grow as big as saucers, but he still can’t see well enough in the darkness. He grabs Seb by the hand, pulling him toward the nearest door.

“What the hell,” the German complains.

Charles presses a hand over his mouth.

“There’s someone else in the stairwell,” he whispers, dragging Seb away from the door and taking cover behind a decorative old chest.

He holds his breath, sharpening his hearing once again. He’s still holding on to Seb’s hand, and _well_ , somehow that eases his nerves.

He hears the door open with a creak, light footsteps barely audible over the carpeted floor.

“ _Char-les_.” He recognizes the voice teasingly chanting his name. “ _Où es-tu_?”

 _Pierre_.

Charles shivers. _If only he had a gun…_

Seb squeezes his hand, catching his attention. He nods his head towards a door a few feet ahead of them. It doesn’t have a room number, but if Charles’ memory of the hotel’s floor plan is correct, he knows it’s a storage room.

It would have been a great place to hide, but now there’s no way they can move without being seen.

“ _Coucou_ ,” Pierre sings again, his voice sounding closer by the second. “Come out, come out. Wherever you are.”

_This is it._

He stares at Sebastian in horror.

There’s nowhere to go. It’s the end.

Charles listens to the footsteps approaching and closes his eyes. He squeezes Seb’s hand, interlacing their fingers. If this is how it ends, he might as well—

He hears several gunshots and winces.

“ _Putain_ ,” Pierre curses, followed by a dull thud that sounds a lot like his gun falling to the ground.

Seb is the first to react. He pulls Charles by the hand and runs towards the storage closet.

Charles glances over his shoulder and sees the startled expression on Pierre’s face, a large splash of paint spreading across his stomach. Pink. _Daniel_.

It’s the last thing Charles sees before Seb pulls him into the closet and everything goes pitch black.

*

He blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the denser darkness, but to no avail. There is no source of light inside the closet. He can’t see a thing.

His heartbeat races, blood rushing loudly through his head. The darkness alone would be fine, but Charles can already feel the walls of the small closet closing in around him. The chemical smell of detergent dominates the air, making him dizzy. He really doesn’t like enclosed spaces.

He tries to make sense of his surroundings, groping through the thin air. His foot catches on something plastic that clatters to the floor.

“Shh. Don’t move,” he hears Sebastian say.

He tries to focus on his voice, on the feeling of warmth emanating from Sebastian’s body. He feels a gush of breath brush his cheek, and whimpers at the unexpected sensation.

“Are you okay?” asks Seb, concern clear in his hushed voice. “You didn’t get hit, did you?”

Charles doesn’t think so. He’s pretty sure he would’ve been able to see the glow of fluorescent paint in the darkness. He tries to speak, but his throat tightens, on the verge of panic.

“Charles?”

Brightness explodes in his face, forcing his eyes to close, and Charles realizes Seb has lit up his cell phone screen. He tries to shield his face from the harsh light, too bright and too sudden, making his head hurt.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t like tight spaces,” he croaks.

His heart is pounding in his chest, and Charles knows his face is probably white as a sheet. He tries to force himself to breathe slowly, to will the irrational fear away. He counts the breaths in his head. He won’t panic right now. _He can’t_.

Suddenly Seb envelops him in a hug, arms wrapping around Charles and pulling him to his chest. Normally Charles would hate the unwarranted physical contact, but somehow the sudden warmth is exactly what he needs right now to ground himself.

Charles focuses on the feel of Seb’s chest slowly rising against his own, and he can feel his heartbeat slowing, the rush of blood less loud in his ears. Sebastian smells good, a vague hint of cologne and gentle fabric softener that feels strangely familiar, reminding him of home. If Charles wasn’t dying of embarrassment, he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life in his embrace.

Sebastian shifts a little to look at his face. His blue eyes look darker in the dim lighting, too hypnotic for Charles to look away. He feels Seb’s breath on his face again, and this time his heart rate quickens for entirely different reasons. They are standing so close to each other that he’s sure Seb can hear it.

Charles feels the colour return to his face as he realizes they’re still embracing, his hand caught between their bodies, resting on Sebastian’s chest. But he can’t move away. His feet are glued to the floor, just as his eyes can’t leave Seb’s face, magnetically drawn to the lush curve of his lips. And if he would just lean that extra inch, then—

“Feeling better?”

It feels like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over his head.

“Yes,” Charles says sheepishly, dropping his hand from Seb’s chest. He steps back on wobbly legs, swaying a little, and Seb steadies him with a firm hand on his hip.

“Yes. Sorry. I mean, thanks for. Huh. Yeah,” Charles stutters as embarrassment settles in, and he’s two seconds away from running back to wherever Daniel is so he can be shot and put out of his misery.

“No problem.” Seb gives him a bright smile, reassuring him a little. “Do you want to get out of here, then?”

“Yes, please.”

*

Leaving the storage room, they turn to the left, towards a small hall with hotel rooms. All is quiet, and a quick scan of the numbers on the doors tells Charles they are back on the third floor.

From there, the corridor splits in two; the left wing leads to the fitness area, as the sign in the wall reveals, while the right wing leads to more rooms and back to the elevators.

“We should split up,” Charles suggests, feeling much more on top of his game now that he’s left the tiny confines of the closet. “We need to search every floor to see if we can find the final location. So, you go left and I’ll go right, and we’ll meet back here before moving to another level, is that alright?”

Seb agrees, and they follow on separate paths. Charles walks by the closed room doors, none of which look like they could be where the finish line is. It seems like a wild goose chase. _What the hell are they even looking for? What on earth does WINGS even mean?_

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket with a string of incoming texts.

> _from George_ : r u there?

> _from George_ : charles ffs pick up the phone

> _from George_ : call me back when u get this

He frowns, putting on an AirPod and clicking on speed dial.

“Mate, what is wrong with your phone?” says George as soon as the connection is made.

“I don’t know. I keep losing signal,” Charles says in a hushed voice as he continues down the right wing. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t have a clue!” says George in exasperation. “Someone has been tampering with the cameras, almost every single one is covered in paint. I can’t see a thing.”

“Shit, is it Daniel?”

“Daniel?”

“Yeah, Pierre is out, so that just leaves Daniel, right?”

“Pierre is out?” George asks. “How did that happen?”

“Daniel took him out on the third floor, about—” he checks his watch. “—fifteen minutes ago.”

He reaches the end of the hallway, where a stained-glass door leads back to the elevator hall. There is nothing helpful in this corridor. He turns to find Sebastian already walking in his direction, shaking his head dejectedly. _So nothing helpful there either._

“Wait a minute,” George’s voice sounds in his ear again. “That can’t be right. I need to check something.”

The call ends before Charles can tell George about the code.

With a sigh, he turns to Sebastian. “Nothing there?”

“ _Nein_.” He points to his earbud. “Was that George?”

Charles nods.

“Any good news?”

“No,” he replies. “He says someone is messing with the cameras, so he can’t help us.”

Sebastian grimaces, sympathetic.

“Should we search another floor, then?” he suggests.

They walk through the glass door into the foyer, their faces bathed in a pale hue from the moonlight streaming through the large balcony glass doors.

Sebastian walks ahead, peering into the main hallway.

“It’s clear,” he says, crossing to the other side of the lobby, where the stairwell is.

Charles makes a move to follow him, but as he nears the main hallway opening, a quick bullet shoots past his face, splattering on the elevator doors.

“Fuck!” he curses, and Sebastian turns around, alarmed. The German peers down the corridor, taking cover behind the wall.

“I can’t see anyone,” he whispers, but as soon as he says so, another bullet comes flying in his direction, leaving a pink stain on the porcelain vase it lands in. He ducks back behind the wall. “ _Scheiße_ _._ ”

Charles dares a quick glance in the direction of the gunfire, and sure enough, the hallway looks empty.

_He’s playing the sniper, is he?_

Charles and Sebastian stare helplessly at each other. There’s no way Charles can cross the hallway to get to him, and it’s only a matter of time before Daniel decides to come out of his hiding spot and finish the job.

So unless Sebastian comes up with a brilliant idea, they’re pretty much screwed. And while Charles’ faith in his teammate is usually unwavering, he has to admit that Seb looks just as lost as Charles. The German leans back dejectedly against that hideous painting that gave Charles the creeps earlier and—

_Holy shit!_

“Seb,” Charles whispers, gesturing wildly at the giant painting of an angel behind his teammate.

“What?” Sebastian glances over his shoulder in confusion, and for once Charles feels the satisfaction of having figured out something his teammate did not.

He points at the angel like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, flapping his arms like a bird.

“Wings!”

He sees the moment the realization hits Sebastian, his eyes going wide and his lips twisting into a huge grin. Seb touches the painting, prodding at the canvas with his face closed up in concentration. He runs his fingers through the delicate golden frame and Charles hears a small clicking sound. The painting gives way, revealing a door hidden behind it.

_The final location._

Without thinking, Charles steps forward, only to be stopped by another bullet that misses him by inches.

_Shit._

“I can’t reach you!” he yells, jumping back into cover. He no longer cares if Daniel can hear them or not. It’s obvious he knows where they are.

Sebastian studies the door, trying the handle to no avail. His fingers trace the metal lock.

“Charles, toss me the card.”

 _What_?

He stares in confusion at Sebastian, who is still examining the lock on the hidden door.

“The card with the code numbers, Charles. It’s a key card,” he explains. “We can end this now.”

_He’s right!_

Hope rises in his chest with that same sense of impending victory he feels when he sees the chequered flag, no other cars ahead. All they have to do is open the secret location and win the race. He fumbles in his pockets for the plastic card.

 _Wait_.

“I don’t have it,” he realizes.

“What?!” Sebastian looks at him in disbelief.

 _Oh no_. He remembers it clearly now; he had been so excited about cracking the code, hugging Sebastian, that he had completely forgotten about the card laying on the bathroom counter.

“I left it in your room.”

Sebastian groans.

“Charles...,” he says in that _slightly-disappointed-but-not-really-surprised_ tone that Charles can’t stand.

 _They had been so close!_ If it weren’t for his carelessness… _Ugh._ _He is stupid._

“I have to go get it,” Sebastian says, his gaze fleeing towards the door to the stairwell and back to Charles. He can see that Seb’s debating whether or not to go without him, and somehow it seems like the worst thing in the world.

“Wait, don’t just leave me here!” Charles protests.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

He stares around, hopeless, looking for anything that might help him cross the hall without getting hit.

_C’mon, Charles. Think._

His gaze lands on the large glass door that leads to the balcony, flickering to its twin sister on Seb’s side of the hallway. The thought materializes in his head before he can think about what a terrible idea it actually is.

“I have an idea,” he says to Seb, pointing to the balconies.

He walks over to the closest one, trying as best as he can to stay out of the sniper’s range. He opens it, and looks back one last time to see Seb staring at him in horror.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

_All or nothing, right?_

He grins.

“See you on the other side.”

Charles slips outside, and the cold night air immediately hits his face. The balcony is only big enough for two people, and its twin is only ten feet away, on the other side of the brick wall. Its door opens and Sebastian steps outside, too.

A narrow, ornamental ledge goes around the building, connecting the two balconies.

_That will have to do._

Charles climbs onto the stone railing, perching on his hands and feet like a cat.

“Charles, get down from there,” Sebastian hisses.

 _He can’t. He’s so close!_ There are only a few feet separating him from Sebastian, and then they can get the key and finish the race. They can actually win it, and Alex will have his seat.

He feels the adrenaline rising in his veins as he steps onto the ledge and melts into the brick wall. He hears Sebastian gasp on the other side.

_Okay, Charles. Whatever you do, don’t look down._

He takes a deep breath, the cold air burning in his lungs. _He can do this. It’s too late to back out now, anyways._

He walks sideways, flattening his palms against the wall. His feet barely fit on the stone ledge, making it difficult to move.

He stops as his phone vibrates in his pocket.

_God, now is really not a good time._

With a shaking hand, he randomly taps his pocket where he knows his phone is. Miraculously, the call connects to the AirPod still in his ear.

“Can’t talk right now, George. I’m standing on a ledge,” he says as calmly as he can.

_It’s only three storeys, right? How high can three storeys be?_

The answer on the other side of the line comes in a series of static hiccups.

_“... figured out... pink... coming for... stay hidden...”_

_Well, that was absolute nonsense._

Charles tries to take his phone out of his pocket to see if that improves the signal, but when he does, he accidentally looks down.

_Holy shit, three storeys is fucking high!_

He freezes, and his phone slips out of his hand, crashing to the gravel below with a sickening crunch.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ _Fuck_.

He can’t move. There’s still a good five feet separating him from both balconies, and he can’t bring himself to move. He feels all the blood draining from his face.

“Charles,” Sebastian says. His voice sounds soft and anxious, and he imagines the concern etched on his teammate’s face.

He can’t look at him though, he can only look at the ground below, intimidating and unforgivingly solid.

“Charles, listen to me. You need to move,” Sebastian says, with more urgency.

 _He can’t! Doesn’t Sebastian know he can’t? Oh my God, this is how it ends._ He’s going to fall to his death in front of his crush. He can think of less embarrassing ways to die.

“Take a deep breath,” Seb commands, “Can you do that for me?”

 _Okay, he can still breathe._ _He thinks_. His lungs expand with the intake of ice-cold air that burns in his ribcage, and he lets it out through his mouth, a puff of condensation mixing with the evening dew.

“Good,” Sebastian says, in his _i'm-so-proud-of-you_ voice.

_God, Charles loves that voice._

“Now take a step,” Seb instructs.

“I-I can’t,” Charles replies.

“Yes, you can, Charles. You’re so close. Just a few more steps and then you can jump onto the balcony.”

_Oh God, that seems like a terrible idea._

_Why couldn’t he have realized this was a terrible idea five minutes ago, before he was irreversibly stuck to the outside wall of the hotel like a fucking gecko?!_

_Are geckos even afraid of heights?_

“Charles, focus on my voice and I’ll guide you, okay? Just take a step.”

“I will fall.” _It seems inevitable now._

“No, you won’t,” Sebastian says. “I will catch you. I promise.”

He glances at Sebastian briefly. He sees the worry on his face, but what he also sees is the unmistakable assurance of faith. It gives Charles that little bit of self-confidence he needs.

“O-okay.” _He can do this_. He takes a tentative step.

The concrete wall scrapes against his back as he slides against it with a series of hesitant steps. Sebastian’s voice encourages him, soft and reassuring. Charles focuses on it alone, feeling all fear and anxiety leave his mind.

“Steady. You’re almost here,” Seb cheers.

Charles rushes through the last few steps, panic rising in his chest again as he gets closer to his target. He reaches out his arm, trying to grab Sebastian’s hand. Their fingers brush, and then Charles lets go of the edge.

For a second he is flying, his whole body floating on thin air. It feels surprisingly like driving a car at 180 miles per hour, his vision blurring at the edges and his body weightless in the blinding speed.

Then he gains momentum and comes crashing down into Sebastian’s outstretched arms. They both stumble to the tiled floor of the balcony in a mess of tangled limbs, his fall softened by the solid mass of Sebastian’s body beneath him.

For a moment, Charles worries that he may have hurt his teammate, but then Sebastian cradles his face in his hands, leaning their foreheads together.

“ _Mein Gott_ , Charles. Don’t ever do that to me again,” he exhales loudly with his eyes closed, and Charles feels the warm puff of breath against his lips. “You could have died. Honestly. I would never forgive myself.”

Seb leans back a little to look at his face, eyes shining with a mixture of concern and relief.

Charles can still feel the adrenaline coursing through in his veins, or maybe it’s Seb’s proximity and those piercing blue eyes that are making his head spin.

He inhales deeply through his nose, and all he feels is that overwhelming scent that reminds him of home. He closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to Seb’s.

If flying had felt like racing, kissing Seb definitely feels like rushing into a high-speed corner. His insides quiver at the realization of what he’s doing, the warm feeling of Seb’s lips almost unreal.

For a moment Charles worries that he’s miscalculated his move, that one-second threat of understeer that makes his blood run cold.

But then Sebastian’s lips move beneath his, firm and sweet, with a hint of tongue licking across his bottom lip, and Charles couldn’t care less if he crashed into a barrier right now. He would die a happy man.

Seb’s hands feel incredibly warm against his cold cheeks and he can feel the taste of whiskey on his tongue, all the way down to his very core.

They kiss fervently for what feels like an eternity, and Charles absolutely ignores the annoying voice in the back of his head telling him that _maybe_ they shouldn’t be doing this out in the open. He’s very much into the kiss, and as he is still straddling Sebastian, things are bound to get obviously awkward very quickly.

It’s Seb who pulls away first, his thumb still tracing random patterns on his cheeks as their lips part with a wicked _pop_.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, and trust me when I say that I hate to stop whatever this is, I think we need to go,” Seb says, looking uncharacteristically shy.

Charles feels his cheeks burn, and a nervous giggle escapes his lips. For all his earlier bravado, he feels more unsteady now than he did back on that ledge. He scratches the back of his neck, muttering an awkward “Yeah,” before standing up.

He offers a hand to Sebastian, pulling him to his feet, and turns to walk back inside the hotel. Seb squeezes their intertwined fingers, making him pause.

“We’ll talk about this later, yeah?” His blue eyes are kind and honest, smiling sheepishly, and it makes Charles’ stomach do a strange flip.

Charles nods, biting his lip, and he tries his best to keep the stupid smile off his face.

*

They are quiet as they make their way to the fifth floor.

Well, Seb is quiet. Charles’ thoughts are anything but.

He was confident before, but now that the adrenaline has worn off, he can’t help but think he screwed this up.

_Why did he have to go and kiss Sebastian like that? There’s no way Seb likes him back, right?_

The heavy silence is just killing him. A slow and agonizing death. He needs to know what Seb is thinking, sooner rather than later, and he both longs for and dreads the promised _talk_.

His mind has already run through a hundred possible scenarios of how it could go down, from the _i’m-too-old-for-you_ nonsense that Charles fears is the most likely to happen, to the _i-like-you-but-not-like-that_ scenario that just makes him shudder in fear. _Please, don’t let it be the latter_.

He glances to the side, trying to see Seb’s face in the dark stairwell. At least they’re still holding hands. _That’s something, right?_

They’ve reached the fifth-floor landing when Seb finally looks at him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Charles replies, trying to look nonchalant.

 _Definitely not having a nervous breakdown because I almost died, and I kissed you and now you’re holding my hand_.

He forces a smile, hoping he doesn’t look like a maniac.

_Okay, Charles. Concentrate. You can panic later._

He needs to occupy his brain with something else, so he walks purposefully towards the door to the fifth-floor foyer. He pushes it open without hesitation, and Seb’s eyes widen.

“Charles, don’t just open—”

 _Too late._ The door hits a solid body with a forceful thud, followed by a loud—

“Fucking hell!”

 _Oh, shit_. Charles knows that voice.

Everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion.

He finds Daniel on the other side, the Australian’s hands clutching at his bleeding nose. For a split second, they stare at each other with wide-eyes, realization setting in. And then Charles’ gaze settles on the paintball gun that has fallen to the floor.

They both reach for the gun at the same time, hands shoving each other in a frantic struggle. Charles’ fingers touch the cool metal of the gun, and he tries to find a grip, searching for the trigger, and then—

A loud bang echoes down the hall.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

Charles takes a deep breath of relief as Daniel stumbles to the floor in defeat, massaging his chest over the obvious paint splatter there.

“Shot with my own gun,” the Australian complains, with a groan. “Max will never let me live this down.”

Seb grins, patting Charles on the back.

“Well done, Charles!” Seb praises him, and— _yeah,_ _thank god for the no-lights situation_ , because Charles’ face has just gone as red as a tomato.

“I’m going to get the key,” Seb says, “I’ll be right back.”

He dashes down the hall, leaving Charles to catch his breath.

“I knew he’d be helping you!” complains Daniel, standing up. “There was no way you just disappeared on that corridor.”

Before Charles can apologize to Daniel for causing his nosebleed, something catches his eye. With Daniel standing up, the fluorescent paint on his vest is on full display, glowing in the darkness.

“Wait, your bullets are orange?! I thought you were Team Pink?”

Daniel looks at him, bewildered.

“No…,” he replies. “We thought _you_ were pink.”

“We’re red,” Charles states, confused.

Daniel hums, scratching his chin. “So… is there someone else in the game?”

Realization dawns on Charles, immediately. The sniper on the third floor wasn’t Daniel at all.

“Oh my god, I have to warn Seb!”

Charles runs down the corridor with Daniel in his heels. Halfway down, he stops, realizing he still doesn’t know which one is Seb’s room. He is spared to look any further though, as a door opens to his right and the blue-eyed German comes out with the key card in his hand.

“Seb,” he blurts out. “There’s another—” he stops his train of thought as he notices the metal numbers on the open door.

“Huh, Seb?” asks Charles, his heart sinking in his chest, “Why is your room number 505?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i split this into three parts so i could leave this cliffhanger??!! _maybe..._
> 
> ... to be continued ...

**Author's Note:**

> [ tumblr ](https://badboy-george.tumblr.com/)


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